


wolfs kin

by orphan_account



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The usually bountiful sun decides to make herself scarce, sinking beyond the horizon and the sunlight along with her. As the light abates, my energy departs with it. A fitful slumber beckons me and I listen; but it was just a ruse for nightmares of the past to invade my mind. I wake several times that night, scared and alone with no earthly comforts. Only the mask that obscures my face tethers me to reality and reminds me of the worst of humanity; without it, I would get up and run as far away from this cursed hellscape as possible.As I finally settle into the dirt beneath me and a sleep not as horrifying as my last, I hear harshly spoken words and feel rough hands wrapping around me before I can open my sleep deprived eyes.
Kudos: 9





	wolfs kin

As she pushes me away from the man, she raises her pocket knife and starts to yell obscenities. Tears are streaming down my face but I have to leave; I sprint as far away as possible until I’m alone, at a graveyard littered with familiar yet nameless effigies. The mask I wear is horrible and musty, yet I resign myself to the prison as I come to the blue building. I slump down beside it, wet eyes bounding across the grave markers. The usually bountiful sun decides to make herself scarce, sinking beyond the horizon and the sunlight along with her. As the light abates, my energy departs with it. A fitful slumber beckons me and I listen; but it was just a ruse for nightmares of the past to invade my mind. I wake several times that night, scared and alone with no earthly comforts. Only the mask that obscures my face tethers me to reality and reminds me of the worst of humanity; without it, I would get up and run as far away from this cursed hellscape as possible. As I finally settle into the dirt beneath me and a sleep not as horrifying as my last, I hear harshly spoken words and feel rough hands wrapping around me before I can open my sleep deprived eyes.

I kick and scream, trying to claw at my captors. It’s no use though, their grips only getting firmer as I flail about. I know what’s to happen- the murmured things others had told me about what happened to women in the old world, what would happen to me if I left my captivity. My heart emits frenzied throbs, my eyes spewing tears. The men throw me down onto the granite floor and I scamper into a corner, holding down my tattered poncho in a futile attempt to obscure myself. They, a group of three or so, whisper to each other, their gazes constantly shifting between me and amongst themselves. I hear footsteps approach, and through my blurred eyes, I see a man adorned with a wolf’s head replacing His own. Panic engulfs me, knowing they must’ve waited for their leader to start. They step aside, allowing Him to come towards me slowly; I start to scream again, abusing my already raw throat. I can only close my eyes as He stands mere feet away from me, a huddled girl trapped in a corner. I can feel His presence kneel before me, and His hand gently yet firmly turning my head towards His. I force myself to steal a glance at Him, to identify my captor. I hold down screams of protest.

The unnaturally blue wolf head He wears seems frighteningly realistic, like He cut it off a real Canidae. The piercing red eyes that seem to cut through my very being are enough for me to avert my gaze towards His leather boots instead. The room is uncomfortably silent except for the throbbing of my heart in my ears. Strangely, this wolf-man doesn’t take off my crudely constructed mask but seems to inspect it, as if measuring its quality instead of me. I’m wary of His intentions although He hasn’t immediately threatened me- it feels like I’m a lamb soon to be sent to the slaughter, being taken stock of by the wolf who’ll soon sink his teeth into me. I can barely breathe. I see His hand reach behind the red cravat tucked into His jacket, and pull out a bright yellow cross. It reminds me of what she always wore around her own neck, and I feel more tears prick at my eyes. He reaches down and I recoil in tangible fear, but He manages to drop the necklace into my palms. I clasp both of my hands around it, holding them to my chest in a silent prayer to a god I don’t believe in but hope will have mercy on my pitiful soul. 

Still mask-clad, I can’t fathom that something horrific hasn’t happened to me yet.  _ They  _ had always told me the outside was dangerous, that a single step into the wasteland would result in my end. Whether it be by the men or the mutants that once were, I wouldn’t have stood a chance against the dwellers of Olathe. Had my fate been decided by a merciful entity, or had it all been lies? I can’t believe that, though, after what had just happened to her. The only thing I can calm myself with lays in my palms, a symbol of a faith that only she had been foolish enough to believe in. I feel the weight of His presence leave, and look up to see Him ushering His men out of the room. He looks back at me and I see Him make the sign of the cross with his right hand before shutting the door. The windowless, dark room leaves me alone with my thoughts and the cross held between my hands. I put it over myself and sob myself to sleep.

I feel disoriented as I wake, my mask clinging to my face in an uncomfortable manner. I stare off into the darkness, caressing the necklace that mirrored hers so much. I take off my mask, feeling comfortable to do so for the first time since our escape. My only sense of safety, this dark and cold room, is ripped away as the door leading into this room creaks open. I instincuatly fumble for my mask, pressing it against my face and clumsily tying the string that secures it to my head. The outline of a man I’m sure was one to discover me outside is illuminated by the sunlight that pours through the crude windows. I’m still wedged into the corner, still fearing. “Come out into the hallway, soon,” He says gruffly, closing the door. The grammatically incorrect sentence is the least of my worries as I get up and brush off dust I’ve collected off the ground. I don’t exactly  _ trust  _ them, but I have no option not to. They’ll haul me out of the room if I don’t come out willingly. I twist the doorknob, stumbling blindly into the hallway.

The wolf-man stands, His back to the wall. I become stagnant, paralyzed at the sight of Him in the light of day. The dots that litter the torn shawl He wears almost sparkle, the eyes of His mask illuminated. One of His men stands by Him, holding a spear that solidifies my fear. I stand in the doorway, a foot reaching back into the darkness, ready to flee into a corner at a moment’s notice. The wolf-man starts to sign at me. “Forgive Lincoln. He doesn’t speak.” His man says, head bowed towards me. Lincoln starts to rapidly move His hands in a language I don’t understand, besides very basic hand signals I used to play with as a child. I straighten my posture, trying to appear more confident then I feel as His soldier faithfully translates. 

“Hello, child. I am Lincoln, a peacekeeper of the wasteland. My men discovered you outside of our home. Why?” This wolf-man’s grandiose dialogue is undercut by the man speaking it. His voice is somewhat squeaky although being very heavyset. Despite this, I am still ready to run and claw at Him if he tries to lay a finger on me. I know what she taught me, and I’ll have to live by it until I can find her again. I don’t think I can speak, really- my throat is still tight with emotion, still raw from screaming. I lean against the doorframe on my side, emitting a deep sigh. A comfortable silence lingers in the air for a few moments as I gaze up at Lincoln. His translator’s face contorts in failed expectation, obviously upset at my lack of reply. Lincoln doesn’t seem to notice or take heed of this, as He starts to sign again. “Child, I know you are able to speak. I heard your screams,” He pauses for a moment, His hands frozen in the middle of a word. He seems to change His mind on His direction of speech as He shifts to another phrase. “If you prefer not to verbally communicate, do you need to be taught sign language?"

I hesitate, unsure of why. I nod my head though.

“Good. You are safe here, child. May you divulge to me your name, if not anything else?”

I take a deep breath.

“Ten.”


End file.
